Gunshots rang out. The sound echoed terrifyingly through the air. The bullet pierced through Giselle's chest. Her body staggered back a few steps before collapsing to the ground, her blood soaking the forest leaves.
"MAMAAA!!" screamed Dyana Rosey at the top of her lungs, her voice hoarse and broken with tears.
But at that exact moment—
Dummm! Dummm!
More gunfire erupted. The police, who had already surrounded the area, returned fire.
Daniel, who tried to raise his gun again, was shot straight in the head. His body stiffened before crashing to the ground—lifeless.
Ken was hit in the shoulder. His rifle slipped from his hand, and his body was thrown backward. He screamed in pain, clutching his bleeding shoulder.
The police chief shouted, "Drop your weapon! Hands up, now!"
The forest that had been filled with screams now echoed with gunfire and the commanding voices of the authorities.
On the other side, Michael ran desperately toward Giselle. He fell to the ground, cradling his wife's blood-soaked body.
"Giselle… my love, hold on… please don't leave me…" his voice trembled, heavy with grief.
Dyana Rosey, still crying hysterically, was held back by a police officer, her eyes locked on her mother's motionless body.
With a trembling voice, Giselle managed to whisper, "Michael… take care of Rosey… don't let her blame herself…"
A tear slid down her cheek, a faint smile forming on her lips. Her breath slowed… until it stopped completely in her husband's arms.
Michael cried out in anguish, while Dyana Rosey screamed, "Mamaaaa!!!"
The forest, once roaring with gunfire, fell silent leaving only the sound of Dyana's sobs and Michael's cries as he held his wife's lifeless body.
Police began securing the area. Ken, handcuffed and bleeding from the shoulder, groaned in pain. Daniel lay dead, his body covered with a black cloth by the forensics team.
Dyana Rosey kept crying, standing frozen near her mother's body. Tears streamed down her pale face.
"Ma… Ma… this is all my fault…" her voice cracked, echoing through the still night.
Michael turned, his eyes red and wet with tears. In his grief, his voice came out firm but laced with pain.
"If you hadn't been so stubborn… if you hadn't come out from hiding… your mother would still be alive, Rosey!"
Dyana Rosey froze. His words cut through her like a knife to the heart. She shook her head slowly, trembling.
"No, Pa… I didn't mean to… I tried to run… I was scared…"
But Michael rejected her words, clutching Giselle's cold body.
"Your mother tried to save you… she died because of you! All of this is because of you, Rosey!"
The nearby officers stood in silence, realizing how cruel those words were for a young girl. But Michael could no longer control his emotions.
Dyana fell to her knees, covering her tear-streaked face.
"I'm sorry, Mama… I didn't want you to die… I didn't want this to happen…"
Her cries echoed through the forest, answered only by the shadows of the night and the sound of crickets.
Inside her, guilt began to grow—binding her fragile heart. She believed… she was the reason her mother was gone.
Michael stared at her, his gaze a mixture of fatherly love and unbearable pain that clouded his reason.
In the dark sky above, the moon peeked through the clouds. The forest bore witness to a mother's death, a daughter's blame, and a family breaking apart.
The living room was cloaked in silence. Michael's face remained tense, his eyes fixed blankly on the floor. Dyana Rosey stayed upstairs, hearing faint murmurs of the adults below.
Giselle's father sighed deeply before speaking, his tone firm yet calm.
"Michael, that's enough. Stop blaming Dyana. Mama and I lost our daughter too… and we've never blamed our granddaughter for it. So why must you?"
Michael turned, his eyes red with tears.
"But if she hadn't come out from hiding, Giselle might still be alive!"
Giselle's mother stood abruptly, her voice trembling but filled with conviction.
"Michael! Don't blind yourself with 'might.' Giselle didn't die because of Dyana. She was shot by those kidnappers! It all happened in chaos. How could you put such a heavy burden on the shoulders of a young girl?"
Giselle's brother, Uncle Raymond, who had been silent, finally spoke sharply.
"My sister died because of those monsters, not because of Dyana. You know they were armed. Giselle risked herself trying to escape. So what sense does it make to blame a frightened child?"
Michael fell silent. His body trembled slightly, but his heart remained clouded.
"But… she ran out… she moved…"
Giselle's father knocked gently on the table, restraining his anger.
"Michael, listen to me. If you were in Dyana's place chased, threatened, and held at gunpoint—what would you do? Sit still and wait for death? No, Michael. Dyana ran because she wanted to live. That's not wrong. That's human instinct."
Giselle's mother walked slowly toward her son-in-law and placed a hand on his shoulder.
"That child has suffered enough from losing her mother. Don't deepen her wounds by blaming her. Remember, Giselle would never want her daughter to be blamed for her own death."
Her words pierced Michael's heart. His tears finally fell freely. He bowed his head, covering his face with his hands.
Dyana Rosey stood by the stairs, hugging herself tightly. Tears filled her eyes as she listened to her grandparents defend her. For the first time, someone spoke up for her saying she wasn't to blame. Yet inside, the wound remained deep, because the one who should have protected her but her own father still refused to believe it.
Michael stayed silent. He clenched his fists, struggling to contain the storm within him.
"Enough. You don't understand… I'm the one who lost my wife, the one who saw her body covered in blood. And I know… it all started when Dyana left her hiding spot. If she had just stayed a little longer… maybe things would've been different."
Then Michael rose from his seat, his face cold. He said nothing more and walked out of the living room, leaving them all behind.
From that night onward, the relationship between Michael and Dyana Rosey turned cold. He no longer spoke to her, avoided her, and often left early and came home late just to escape seeing her.
In Michael's eyes, every time he looked at Dyana Rosey… all he could see was Giselle. And that memory filled his heart with a misplaced resentment he couldn't let go of.
***
The next morning, Dyana Rosey slowly opened her eyes. Sunlight filtered through the half-open curtains, stinging her tired eyes. For a moment, she froze her body felt heavy, her chest rising and falling unevenly. The memories of last night came crashing back Emma's unconscious body, Marchos Alexander's face, his grip, his touch, his lips. Dyana Rosey's heart began to pound wildly again.
Tears threatened to fall, but she forced them back. It had really happened. All of it was real.
Her gaze shifted toward the sofa. Emma was still lying there, her breathing steadier than the night before. A wave of relief washed over her, but the fear never left. Her hand went to her temple, her body trembling slightly. She could still feel the ghost of Marchos Alexander's touch on her skin.
Why did he do all this? How does he even know me?
Question after question circled in her mind. Dyana Rosey pulled her knees close to her chest, trying to calm herself.
The sound of footsteps outside the room made her tense. She froze, hugging herself tightly until a soft knock followed.
"Dyan? It's me, Ryan."
Her racing heartbeat slowed slightly. Hesitantly, she opened the door. Ryan stood there, holding two cups of coffee. His eyes softened as he looked at Dyana's pale face and swollen eyes from crying.
"Ryan…" Her voice was hoarse, almost breaking.
"Are you okay?" Ryan's voice was gentle, filled with concern.
Dyana Rosey shook her head, and her body finally collapsed into Ryan's chest. He quickly set the cups down on a small table and wrapped his arms around her tightly.
"It wasn't a dream," Dyana whispered, trembling. "He came here… Marchos Alexander… he threatened me, Ryan."
Her tears soaked through his shirt.
Ryan clenched his jaw, his face hardening with anger, but his hand continued to stroke her back, trying to soothe her.
The faint ring of a phone on the table startled Dyana. She turned to see Emma stirring on the sofa. The girl groaned softly as she tried to open her eyes.
"Emma?" Dyana hurried over, falling to her knees beside the sofa. "Emma, are you okay? Can you hear me?"
Emma closed her eyes briefly before looking at Dyana. Her face was pale, faint bruises visible on her neck and arms. Her breaths were short, but her eyes were beginning to focus.
She tried to sit up, but her body was still weak. Ryan quickly moved to help her sit against the sofa. "You need to rest. Don't push yourself."
But Emma shook her head.
"Dyan… Marchos… Marchos Alexander, the CEO of SKY Corporation,he came here."
Dyana nodded slowly.
Emma looked down, her voice trembling with trauma. "He asked about you, Dyan. I tried to tell him you weren't here. But one of his bodyguards—" she paused, tears welling up "he grabbed me roughly, pushed me against the wall… and before I could scream, he… he injected something into my neck."
Dyana Rosey covered her mouth, horrified. "Emma…"
"I only caught a glimpse of Marchos's face before everything went dark," Emma whispered weakly. "He was calm… as if everything was perfectly normal to him. Dyan, he's not an ordinary man. He's dangerous…"
Dyana Rosey lowered her gaze. Her body stiffened, as if all the air in the room had been sucked out. Ryan watched her closely, his feelings tightening with jealousy at the mention of Marchos Alexander's name.
The living room fell silent. Only the faint ticking of the wall clock could be heard, counting down the tense seconds. Dyana Rosey sat at the end of the sofa, her eyes blankly fixed on the floor. The tissue she had been clutching now hung limply from her hand.
Ryan stood in front of her, his face serious. "Dyan… I need to ask you something."
She looked up slowly, her eyes still red from crying. "What is it?"
Ryan swallowed hard before speaking. "Have you… met that man before? Marchos Alexander."
The question struck Dyana's heart like thunder. Her breath caught; the air suddenly felt heavy. She tried to speak, but her tongue felt frozen.
Emma, sitting beside her, also looked at her—her tone soft yet suspicious. "But you know what, Dyan? Now that I think about it, it makes sense why he wanted you to serve him at the café! He already knew you!"
Dyana Rosey looked down, her fingers twisting the edge of her shirt tightly. "I… I don't know, Emma. I've never met him before. I swear, I haven't."
Ryan didn't immediately believe her. At the same time, jealousy started to stir within him. "But he knows everything about you—your full name, your address, your workplace… That's not a coincidence, Dyan."
Dyana shook her head slowly, tears spilling again. "I don't know why he knows all that. I think… he's been watching me for a long time, but I never realized it." Her voice trembled—caught between fear and guilt she couldn't understand.
Emma touched her friend's shoulder. "Dyan, we need to know the truth. Even if you've had the slightest connection with him, we need to find out so we can protect you."
Dyana bit her lower lip, holding back the sob rising in her chest. Faint, blurry images began flashing in her mind—a shadowy figure on the street, a sharp gaze from across the café, a whisper she once thought was her imagination.
Could it have been him? Marchos Alexander?
She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the thoughts away. "I don't know, Ryan… I really don't. But if he's ever been part of my life…" She paused, her voice cracking. "I hope I never see him again."
Ryan took a deep breath, still watching her with a mix of worry and doubt. Emma could only hold Dyana close as she quietly wept against her shoulder.
And in that room, the three of them were swallowed by a suffocating silence. Each of them knew—whatever secret lay between Dyana Rosey and Marchos Alexander… it was only the beginning of something far darker.